


It's Written On Our Skins

by therjolras



Series: For My Friends [5]
Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, M/M, Multi, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 08:28:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,607
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3803641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therjolras/pseuds/therjolras
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ashton, as a bloke who swings both ways, tries to be an open-minded individual. He honestly didn’t expect this, but he figures he can roll with it. Polyamory *is* a thing, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Written On Our Skins

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rocketshiptospace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocketshiptospace/gifts).



> This was just something I scribbled up in like, 12 hours for Ellie's birthday. Short and uber-fluffy, possibly unbetaed. Sorry.
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY ELLIE

There is a word across Ashton’s collarbone, written in all caps and separated by a large space: _AGGRE SSION_

He worries about this. If someone is going to reach out both hands and shove him (which is what it looks like, one half the word for each place their hands will land), he would like to know why.

Ah well.

Then, of course, he goes to put on a shirt and finds another one. It’s on his wrist, in this scratchy attempt at cursive, and Ashton thinks it says _yearning._ That’s disconcerting (the second mark, not the word). It gets worse when he looks in the mirror and sees another one trailing across his shoulder; he has to crane his neck to read it, and eventually deciphers from the scrawl _praise_. That’s really sweet. He’s not sure he’s had enough coffee for this discovery.

That becomes the plan. Ashton does his best to ignore the situation until he’s put on the coffee pot and made toast, and when he’s started the process of filling his stomach he sits down on the kitchen island and assesses the situation. It’s not _completely_ unheard-of, multiple soulmates. Ashley, with _reverence_ in delicate script across her forearm, tends to follow the stories on the news upon occasion and Ashton always hears about them eventually. Polyamory is a thing.

(Ashton, as a bloke who swings both ways, tries to be an open-minded individual.He honestly didn’t _expect_ this, but he figures he can roll with it.)

(Although that may be the caffeine talking.)

 

Soulmates are weird, Ashley says occasionally. You _usually_ get them when you turn eighteen,  but sometimes you get them when your _soulmate_ turns eighteen, and the word  on your skin will apparently bloom into a pretty picture at their first touch? Yeah, kind of weird. Ashley, he knows, will occasionally trace the scrolls of her mark, especially on the bad days; it’s a nice word to think about, in a way. Nothing like _aggression_.

Ashley traces the scratchy letters on his shoulder during their shift, her eyes narrowing the slightest bit, until Ashton gets a little bit uncomfortable and leans away from her touch. Ashley says, “It looks like handwriting.”

“Really sweet, yeah,” Ashton says.

“I like your wrist one,” she adds. “That one’s pretty sweet, too.”

“Mm,” Ashton says. “Two years late, too. D’you reckon they just had their birthday?”

“Maybe,” she says. Then, “Hey, Feldy asked if we wanted to come in tonight, you in? He’s working with one of those up-and-comers, apparently they’re pretty good.”

“Sure,” Ashton says. “Figure you’ll get away with recording some tonight?”

“Maybe,” she says, a lazy smile crossing her face that means she sure as hell plans to.

 

They arrive later, when the suns gone down and the people out and about are flocking to neon-colored signs and quiet parks with nothing but the moon to light them. Feldy’s a late worker, likes to capture that nighttime buzz; if you can’t roll with that, Ashton always says, “there’ll be others who’ll produce you.” The man’s hanging out in the control booth when Ashton pushes the door open for himself and Ashley, listening to three blokes recording on the other side of the window. They’re apparently doing a three-part harmony; it sounds pretty great.

“Hey, that’s that Australian band,” Ashley says, the minute she has a chance to look. Feldy grins at the identification. Ashton looks properly, and feels his eyes widen because it _is_. It’s that band from the homeland who have made it to the big leagues, shining like stars. (Ashton would never admit to knowing their faces by heart, knowing every facet of their smiles. He _will_ admit that they are beautiful.)

Ashley smirks at him, and he realizes he’s been rubbing at the mark on his wrist. He very quickly pretends nothing happened. “What’s it looking like, Feldy?”

“Looking good,” the man replies. “They’re some phenomenal singers. You don’t often get a band like this that can actually _sing_. They’re a three-piece, though, no drummer. Figure you could help me out with that?”

“I-- _yeah,_ ” Ashton says. “Sure. Use me as you will.” Working with these guys? Ashton will sell his fucking _soul_.

Ashley grins, like she can tell what he’s thinking, and Ashton feels like his face is going to combust. Feldy says, “Wonderful. They’re about done here; we’ll talk in a second. Well done, boys!” He adds into the mic. “I think we should pause for the moment, though, I’ve got some folks in here for you to meet.”

“They finally sent Luke’s replacement?” One of them says. _Calum_ ,  Ashton’s brain supplies. Another voice protests-- it’s Luke. Ashton joins the third (Michael) in a quick chuckle as Feldy says, “Nothing so dark. Come on out, boys.”

“I’m already out,” Luke grumbles. Ashton and Ashley snort almost in unison as the trio leaves the booth and arrive a moment later. They’re all, Ashton immediately realizes, significantly taller than him. And twice as hot in person. Michael promptly zeroes in on him ( _oh, shit)_ and declares, “So _you’re_ Luke’s replacement!” Before marching up and giving him a light shove in the chest, paired with a crooked grin. “Lemme guess, you’re the drummer?”

“Maybe,” Ashton says. “What gives you that idea?”

“Well, those hot biceps for starters,” Calum supplies. Michael nods in agreement, and Ashton feels his face heating up again. Luke leans over/around Michael and says, “Be nice, Mikey. Please? On my birthday?”

“I’m being nice!” Michael says. Ashton grins and pats him condescendingly on the arm. “You keep thinking that, mate. What’s the plan, Feldy?”

“Well, I was just telling these boys that the track needs a drum line to bring it together,” Feldy says. “Figure you’re up for it?”

Ashley says, “Yeah, Ash, you up for it?” Ashton looks over at her, standing at Feldy’s shoulder, and she looks incredibly smug. Did she set him up? She must have set him up. “Shut up, Ashley,” he says. “Course I’m up for  it. Use me as you will.”

“Yes, please,” Michael says. Ashton wonders if his face will combust. He had it coming, honestly. “If you like,” he replies, and Calum and Luke both wolf-whistle. Michael looks like the cat who caught the bird. Feldy says, “Alright, kids, save it for later. Ashton, go set up the drum kit, we’ll be right in.”

“On it,” Ashton says. “Ashley, dibs.”

“Which one?” Ashley says. Ashton knows he can’t go back when he replies, “All of them.” He closes the door fast after that, but he hears the hoots. He’s still blushing. Also his chest feels hot. He doesn’t look. Rather, he goes down to the drum studio and sets up the kit, and when he pulls his headphones on he hears chatter on the other side. “Oi,” he says. “Testing. Testiiiing. Happy birthday to yoooooou…”

“Hey!” Luke says on the other end. “We hear you. Are you a regular drummer, Ash?”

“I didn’t give you my name,” Ashton says. “Did Ashley? Also yeah, I’m a drummer. Obviously. Do you often enlist strange drummers to enhance your sound?”

“We usually have our touring drummer on it.” Michael joins in with little ceremony, making Ashton chuckle. Luke adds, “He’s not nearly as nice as you are.”

“Well, I hope to put up a better performance,” Ashton says. “As a birthday present.”

“Aww, Ash, you made him blush,” Ashley says. Ashton feels smug. “Alright, Feldy,” he says, “Hit me.”

Feldy hits him with it. The track is just bass and guitar at this point, nicely arranged with just enough rough edges for it to strike home, but it’s missing something. Missing a punch. Oh well-- that’s what Ashton’s here for, anyway.

On the second time through he starts working, first laying down a steady beat and then adding punches to the mix. Finding the empty space where this sound belongs and leaving a trail of rat-a-tat-tat behind him. It’s not much-- just an idea, an outline-- but it’s the first time in a while Ashton feels like a part of something.

When he stops, there’s a cacophony of voices waiting to have their say. There’s Michael, apparently full of nothing but praise, Calum already forming new ideas,  Feldy saying that they might need another take but that was a great start. Then Luke’s soft voice cuts in: “Well, you’re definitely better than Josh.”

Ashton grins. He feels weirdly undone by the praise; he’s heard it all before, every comment about talent and hard work and putting yourself out there, but Michael’s ineloquent enthusiasm and Luke’s subdued comment are on a whole new level.

He says, “I live to serve.”

Ashley’s voice supplies, “You wish, Irwin.”

“Shut up, Ashley.” There’s a chorus of laughter from the other end, and Ashton feels  his face heat up ( _again_ ). Feldy says, “Come up here and we’ll play it back, Ashton.”

He complies. As soon as he walks in the door, Michael barrels over and envelopes him in a hug. “THAT,” he says, “was the best shit ever and I want you to be our drummer forever. And ever. Until we die and become rock gods, and even in the rock-god’s-afterlife.” Ashton returns the hug, laughing a bit, and then Michael releases him. “That beat was, like, amazing. Was that what, like, just popped into your head or something?”

“Just what popped into my head,” Ashton says. Michael beams. “That’s amazing. Right, Calum?”

Calum’s appeared while Ashton was distracted. He lays a hand on Ashton’s shoulder and says, with all sincerity, “Hot damn, son.”

Ashton laughs, brushing off Calum’s hand. Michael laughs. Luke appears and laughs too, though it’s obvious he doesn’t know what the joke is. Ashley arrives and wraps an arm around Ashton’s shoulders and pulls him down far enough that she can give him a quick noogie. “You kicked ass,” she says.

(This goes on for long enough that Feldy declares they’d better disband and resume in the daylight hours. Michael immediately says,

“Can Ashton come?”

Feldy says _of course_. Luke and Calum say it’s definitely happening. Ashton, because he’s crazy sometimes, says “hell yeah.”

 

It’s only when he gets home and pulls off his shirt that he finds his brand-new mark newly embellished with a couple of lightning bolts and a scrawled “ _playful_ ” just above _“AGGRE”_ , complete with some fancy scrolls and a flower. Ashton thinks, _shit_. Then because he’s a dreamy idiot, he checks his shoulder where Calum touched him.

 _holy shit_ , that’s the praise mark. And it’s got a pretty picture too. Ashton wants to throw open a window and sing into the night like an idiot. He glances at his wrist, although he knows it hasn’t changed all day. Could it be Luke’s?

(Luke didn’t touch him. He remembers very vividly, with a hint of disappointment. He wonders. He hopes it’s Luke’s.)

Because he’s an idiot, he texts Feldy and asks him if he’s got the guys’ contacts. Feldy replies within moments with three different numbers, and Ashton has to pick and choose who he wants to text with this outrageous information. In the end (that being about thirty seconds later) he decides on Michael, because he remembers touching him several times. Not like that.

How does one lowkey say, _‘hey we met tonight and I think we might be soulmates’_?

Before Ashton can figure it out, he gets a text from an unknown number. It reads, _hey, its mikey(_!!!) _, feldy gave us your number. um… awkward, but do you have a resolved mark? that like, resolved just today? cause i think you resolved mine. and calum’s. sorry if that’s forward, i freaked out._

Ashton checks the number, and it matches the one Feldy sent him. Huh. He replies (with slightly less anxiety than before), _not weird at all. actually… yeah, I think  you resolved one of mine. and calum resolved another. are you lot soulmates too? it seems like itd make sense._

Michael replies moments later. _yeah!!! we’ve been betting on it for eyars, but we couldn’t be sure until lukey got his marks-- like, yesterday. and we all had an extra. that was weird. and then we met you, and it was  like !!! we totally hit it off. and now we’re soulmates. apparently._

Ashton replies, _apparently. wanna meet for lunch?_

Michael takes a moment to reply, _HELL YEAH. all of us?_

_definitely._

 

So that’s what happens. Ashton finds himself outside a low-key coffee shop downtown around lunchtime, rubbing anxiously at his yet-unresolved mark for a long moment before sucking it up and pushing the door open. It’s not dark inside, although the shades have turned the inflowing light a deep amber in patches on the floor. The three boys are seated in a corner booth by the wall of windows, and Luke is facing the door; he spots Ashton just as the door closes behind him, and is immediately on his feet and meeting him. There aren’t any words exchanged; Luke glances down at Ashton’s marked wrist and takes it, his blue eyes alive with nervousness. Ashton gets it. He leans in and bumps Luke’s shoulder with his own, his own nervousness refusing to look for a mark. Luke offers him a shy smile and leads him to the booth, sliding in after him.

Calum immediately says, “So.” He’s folding and unfolding his hands, and when Ashton looks he sees letters written neatly across the knuckles: _comf ort_

“I wonder,” Ashton says, “How does it work? Did they resolve the first time you touched each other after you got them, or were they resolved already?” He’s avoiding the conversation for reasons unknown, the butterflies in his stomach waging war on the rest of his insides, but the change of subject seems to calm Calum a bit as well. “The first one,” he says. “I found them when I woke up yesterday, and I was kinda freaking out because I’d thought they’d already be resolved like you suggested. Then Luke saw and he kinda got up and reached out and grabbed my hands to comfort me, like it says, and…”

“It resolved,” Ashton says. Calum nods. “So, yeah. And we all resolved each other real quick after that, but we were really bewildered why we all had one more.”

“And then we met you,” Michael supplies. He’s bent over his coffee, so far very quiet, but he’s looking at Ashton like he’s something Michael’s never seen before. It makes the butterflies in Ashton’s stomach even more excited.

“What’s the mark look like?” He asks. Michael pushes up the sleeve of his t-shirt and shows the mark across his bicep, written in that cute schoolkid font you see in textbooks: _condescension_. “You were making fun of me,” Michael says.

“I was,” Ashton says. “But to be fair, your mark says AGGRESSION. How was I supposed to take that?”

Michael chuckles. Next to Ashton, Luke makes a funny noise. He’s pushed up the sleeve of his own shirt, on the far side of Ashton, and he cranes around Luke to look: a tiny word on his bicep has bloomed with what looks like a rosebush.

“It says ‘reassurance’,” Luke says. “I thought it was sweet.”

Ashton holds up his wrist. _Yearning_ is wreathed in stars, and the sight makes the corner of Luke’s mouth turn up in a smile. “I think it’s right.”

“Of course it is,” Ashton says. Calum smiles, shifting his grip on his coffee mug and showing the edge of a floral tattoo under the cuff of his flannel shirt. Ashton doesn’t have to squint to realize it says _joy_.

He thinks he can relate to that. 


End file.
